


Spring Fever

by TextualDeviance



Series: The Raven and the Dove [7]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Could be seen as dubcon due to the inherent power imbalance of the relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 16:35:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1655192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TextualDeviance/pseuds/TextualDeviance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting out into the sunshine after a long winter has made Athelstan willing to try something new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spring Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Set in late 1x06. A couple of months after [Body Heat](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1645421).
> 
> Very explicit! Enter at your own risk.

After the longest winter Athelstan ever could have imagined, it felt very, very good to have the sun on his face again. The once barren and snow-buried landscape around Kattegat had come alive: buds on trees had exploded into flurries of pink, white, and yellow flowers. Fields of daisies and red clover sprinkled the hillsides, and fat bumblebees buzzed from blossom to blossom. The branches of Rhododendron and azalea had shot up and though their own buds were still tightly closed, they hinted at more beauty to come. The animals, too, were excited at the change in weather. The goats, pigs, and other livestock leapt excitedly when they were finally allowed to roam their outdoor enclosures, and had begun courting each other in earnest. The trumpeting and birdsong in the forests told of still more. The whole world, it seemed, had come alive and was blissfully, exuberantly in love. He understood the feeling.

One bright April morning, Ragnar came bounding into his room bearing an armful of supplies, which he dumped unceremoniously on Athelstan's bed.

"Whoa!" Athelstan narrowly missed being thunked on the head by a quiver full of arrows. "What's all this?"

"Hunting gear." Ragnar beamed. "The rivers are running and the animals are out in the open, just waiting to be taken by our bows and blades."

"I thought hunting was best done in autumn?"

"It is. But there are useful prey to be found at this time, too, and they are far easier to hunt, as they are busy seeking food and mates." He grinned. "Besides: I need the fresh air and so do you."

"I cannot argue on that point." Athelstan smiled, and began gathering things up into a pack. "Who will be joining us? Torstein? Arne?"

"Neither, and no one. It it just we two. Just you and I."

"Why?"

Ragnar closed the distance between them, and leaned into his neck to nip at his ear. "Because the animals are not the only ones looking for quiet places to mate."

 

Having spent the majority of his life on an island, wielding brush and quill rather than bow or blade, proper hunting was not part of Athelstan's skills. As they traipsed through the hillsides, Ragnar taught him how to look for signs and tracks indicating what animals might be nearby, and coached him on being stealthy. He also had to give him some guidance in how to use the bow they had brought; his first shot, at a brace of grouse, went wildly off course, scattering the birds into the air.

The time spent on this education meant that no prey was captured by the time the sun was high, yet they had both grown weary and needed a rest and a bit of food. Climbing up to a shady spot overlooking a swiftly crashing waterfall in the distance, they rested while Athelstan assembled a small meal of dried meat, honey-preserved berries, bread, and a small crock of thick butter. A tankard full of clear water from a nearby stream completed the spread.

"Thank you," Ragnar said between bites. "For the meal, and for coming with me today."

Athelstan sipped at the water and smiled. "My pleasure."

Ragnar raised an eyebrow. "Speaking of your pleasure. . ." He lobbed a crust in Athelstan's direction.

"Yes?" Athelstan played coy.

"My belly is not all that needs feeding." Ragnar licked his lips.

Meeting the steady gaze with one of his own, Athelstan dropped his voice. "And my mouth wants filling with more than food."

In moments, their repast forgotten, the two were half disrobed and rolling around on the soft, grassy ground, tongues entwined and hands seeking out sensitive places. Breaking the kiss, Ragnar bent his head and began biting his way across Athelstan's chest, while the priest in turn grabbed for the hardness tenting the front of the earl's breeches.  Ragnar groaned and thrust into the touch. 

"How would you like me?" Athelstan murmured as they continued to peel away each other's clothing. "Do you want my hands or my mouth?"

"I want all of you," Ragnar growled, and slipped a hand down the back of Athelstan's breeches as he shoved them off of his rump. Taking a palmful of the firm flesh, he squeezed. " _All_ of you. Please."

Perhaps it was the warmth of the air, or sweet scent of the flowers, or the freedom of being so far away from the village, but Ragnar's touch in that area for once did not unsettle Athelstan.  Instead, he found himself arching his back, seeking more of it. "All right," he finally breathed. "I will do it."

Ragnar pulled away for a moment, searching his face. "Do you mean it?"

"Yes. Only . . . I'm still not sure what to do."

"Then we will go slowly." Ragnar licked Athelstan's neck. "Have you done what I suggested, to see if you like the feeling?"

Athelstan flushed. Even after all the intimate contact they had had so far, admitting this in so many words was still strange. "I have. I actually . . . I did some of that in my bath this morning."

"What did you think?" Ragnar pushed down his own breeches, his hard cock springing free.

Athelstan almost laughed at how quickly his mouth started watering at the sight. "It was strange. The touch felt sort of . . . unclean, at first."

Ragnar took his erection in hand and gave it a single, firm stroke. "At first. And then?"

"It started to feel nice. Very nice, actually."

"Good." Ragnar purred. "That is how I want you to feel. It would be no joy for me if you didn't like it." Getting to his knees, he gently pushed Athelstan onto his back and hovered over him. Starting again at his chest, which now sported several red marks, he began moving down Athelstan's body. He paused to dip his tongue into the priest's shallow navel, and then took him in his mouth, sucking hard.

Athelstan saw stars and he cried out."Ragnar! I can't—I won't last long if you do that."

Ragnar pulled back, releasing the organ with a pop, and laughed. "I forget sometimes how sensitive you still are. So many years to make up for."

"Yes. Well, I can't help that."

"I was only beginning, however." Ragnar continued his trajectory. Sliding a hand along Athelstan's thighs, he gently parted them. He cupped the priest's tight, sparsely-furred sack, and then feathered his fingers over the expanse of skin behind. The feeling was intense, and Athelstan almost closed his legs, but as Ragnar continued, he instead dropped them to the sides, to give him more access. By the time the earl stroked a rough finger across his hole, he was beginning to feel almost drunk.

"Do it." Athelstan panted. "Touch me more."

"There is the reaction I had hoped for." Ragnar murmured into Athelstan's groin. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he licked them and then reached down again, using the wetness from his mouth to ease his finger's path.

Again, it felt wrong to Athelstan at first. He felt ashamed and as if his body were not meant for such contact. He worried for a moment whether his morning bath had been thorough enough. Despite the utter lack of privacy on the journey across the sea after he was captured, and even despite helping clean Ragnar himself when he was convalescing at Floki's cabin, it still felt as if this part of one's body—of one's life—was something that shouldn't be shared with someone else. But then, as Ragnar's finger slipped all the way inside, something changed. His erection nearly forgotten, his focus quickly centered on just that area, and a sudden bliss he had never felt before. His vision blurred and he moaned an expletive in his native language.

"Do you want more?" Ragnar nipped at the soft flesh of his inner thigh.

"Yes. Please." As Ragnar added fingers to the one inside him, his body continued to relax, and even to welcome the invasion greedily. After several minutes, he began to beg. He didn't care if he sounded like the Whore of Babylon. He wanted whatever Ragnar was giving him, and as much of it as possible. Reaching out, he clutched desperately at Ragnar's cock, trying to tug it closer to him. "This. Give me this."

Ragnar shivered himself at the eager groping. "Are you certain?"

Athelstan tried to focus on Ragnar's face, but all he could see were the glowing, almost unnaturally blue eyes. It was enough. "I am. I want it. I need you inside me."

"Then you shall have me." Reaching with his free hand for the butter crock, Ragnar scooped out some, spreading it on his already-damp organ. Gently removing his fingers, he lay back. "Come here," he beckoned. "It will be easier for you to guide me in yourself. That way I won't go too fast and hurt you."

Athelstan had been on a horse only a few times, but it was easy enough to think of himself as mounting the saddle of Ragnar's loins. As Ragnar held his cock steady, he lowered himself, thighs trembling. Unfortunately, it did hurt at first—Ragnar was well endowed, and his body was very unused to having anything going in that orifice as opposed to coming out of it. But after a reapplication of butter and a moment to breathe, he tried again. This time, it worked. With a slow, steady pace, it seemed to take hours, but eventually, he finally sank onto the length, and sat proudly upright.

The innocent monk he had been was no more. He had succumbed, willingly, to the desires of this heathen, had opened himself up, body and soul, and allowed Ragnar in. When first he had contemplated the act, he thought he might be afraid, or that guilt or a desire to atone for the sin would dampen any possible pleasure. Yet he felt none of this. Instead, the thought that would not leave his mind was how alive Ragnar felt inside him. The heat, the pulsing, and the way his skin slid back and forth made it abundantly clear how connected their bodies were at that moment. His body felt made for this, and he felt born again.

"How does it feel?" Ragnar murmured, his voice tight. Athelstan could tell that he was having difficulty controlling his need to thrust.

By way of answer, he groaned, and then began to rock. In a moment, Ragnar reached for his cock with his butter-slicked hand and started stroking. Athelstan threw his head back and his body clenched. Jerking his hips, he rode into the rhythm Ragnar had set. With each downward motion, something glorious spasmed inside him, and he began babbling. Snippets of the six different languages he knew skipped through his brain and out his mouth as he tried to find the right word to express how he felt. It seemed there were no fit words in any language, however, save one, "Ragnar," which he repeated, over and over again. 

His peak took him quite by surprise, but even after he had released, he still kept going, trying not only to please Ragnar but to keep feeling his own bliss as long as possible. Just when the last faded and he thought he could take no more, Ragnar himself began to buck and heave, grabbing Athelstan's hips and thrusting hard as he spilled into his priest.  By the time he finished, Athelstan was growing sore, but he didn't care.

When it was all finally done, the world seemed oddly still. They disengaged carefully, and he lay there on his back, staring at the sparks of sunlight filtering through the trees and listening to the rhythmic crashing of the waterfall. He felt utterly at peace, as if he were one with the earth and sky; an oddly spiritual feeling given the sin he had just committed. Ragnar lay on his side, staying close and dropping gentle kisses across his flushed skin, for once just letting the quiet sounds of the forest surround them. When they felt capable of moving, they took to the stream for a quick, cold dip, and then dressed and finished their meal.

The journey back was a little uncomfortable, as his muscles returned to their normal state, but by the time they had returned to Kattegat, all was well. Indeed, Athelstan thought he might be able to try again soon, and looked forward to an encore.

Explaining away their unsuccessful hunt took a little doing. Ragnar made some excuse about the animals dodging all of their shots, and Athelstan tried gamely to back up his story. Still, he thought with a smile as they parted ways for their evening's duties, at least one arrow had certainly found its mark.


End file.
